


A Bit of Tragedy Never Hurt

by scheherezhad



Category: Batman: The Animated Series, DCU Animated
Genre: Gen, post-Return of the Joker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-19
Updated: 2008-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherezhad/pseuds/scheherezhad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's not a replacement," Batman said sharply from the computer. "It's a <em>clone.</em>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit of Tragedy Never Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> For amarin_rose's fic_on_demand request for toon 'verse Kon [here](http://community.livejournal.com/fic_on_demand/820076.html). Title is from "Walk Away" by Darren Hayes, which was pretty much on endless loop in my brain the entire time I worked on this.

The thing about being a costumed crime-fighter, Tim thought, was that just when you thought you couldn't be surprised anymore, something totally unexpected up and blindsided you. Or kidnapped, tortured, and brainwashed you. Same diff. Of course, he wasn't exactly doing the crime-fighting part right now, so maybe his being surprised at the moment could be a tic in the "civilian" column.

"Hi," the stranger in the Cave offered.

"Batman, what is he--hehehe--" Tim bit back the laugh clawing at his brain. "What is he doing here? You pick up a new Robin at the Orphan-Mart?" he asked, eyeing the new kid sitting on the exam table. Black hair, blue eyes (yeah, there was a shock), about Tim's age, and wearing a set of scrubs. He was kinda cute, even.

"It's not a replacement," Batman said sharply from the computer. "It's a _clone_."

"It would really like to stop being called an 'it,'" the boy said sullenly.

Tim clawed at his own arm to push down a giggle, and it made the boy look at him worriedly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, reaching out to pull Tim's hand away from the bloody scratches.

"Depends on your definition of 'okay.' I'm not still under the narcotic- and torture-induced brainwashing of a psychotic clown—"

" _Tim._ " Batman's voice could pierce the kevlar Tim wasn't allowed to wear anymore.

"—so I guess you could call this okay," Tim finished. His fingers flexed against the boy's. It was a grip full of concern, but not weighed down by the months and months of worry and self-blame and recovery he felt when the family touched him now. It was nice. "Do you have a name?"

The boy withdrew his hand, tucking his fingers underneath his thighs. "No."

"Who are you a clone of?" Tim asked, partly because he wanted to know and partly because there was a part of him that liked to see other people squirm when someone poked their soft spots, because it was soothing when it wasn't _his_ head getting rifled through.

The boy hunched in on himself a little, and it was Batman who said, "Superman," flatly.

And Tim could see it, now, in the angle of his jaw and the slope of his nose, the sheen of his hair and the blue of his eyes. "We should call you Kon-El," Tim said. He saw that the boy didn't quite get it, the anagram or the reference to Kal, but there was a discernible release of tension through his frame. Tim ignored Batman's clenched jaw. Instead, he asked, "Can I take him upstairs? Dinner's—"

"No."

That tone was ingrained in Tim down to the marrow, and he knew he couldn't push any more tonight. "I'll just go up and see if Alfred's done," he said lightly. As he turned toward the stairs, though, he felt Kon's hand on his wrist again.

When Tim glanced down, there was nothing there, and he could still feel the hand.

Kon looked a little horrified, but he wasn't letting go.

"Batman? I think we have a new development."

 

One tense downstairs dinner and a battery of tests and scans later, Batman had determined that Kon had tactile telekinesis and super strength. No other powers were evident—yet. Tim knew Clark had had to grow into most of his abilities, so he figured Kon would do the same. For the time being, he was intrigued by Kon's telekinesis. He wasn't allowed to use it on Tim anymore after he almost set off a laughing fit when the TK skittered spider-light over Tim's ribs earlier. Batman had pulled out the Kryptonite to make Kon stop, and it had made him vomit, too.

Tim sat with Kon after Alfred cleaned up and brought him water, and Batman was busy rigging up some sort of cage to put Kon in until he figured out what to do with him. It made Tim's skin itch to look at it. He decided to look at Kon, instead.

"I didn't ask earlier," Tim said quietly, "but how did you end up here?"

Kon shrugged and drummed his heels against the side of the exam table. "Woke up in a tube, broke out, smashed some stuff. Then Superman found me and pawned me off on him," he said, tilting his head in Batman's direction.

"Harsh."

"Tell me about it." Kon smiled without any humor. "So, uh, were you really brainwashed by a killer clown?"

"Yeah. Sounds—heh hehe—crazy, doesn't it?" Tim trembled with the effort of not laughing, so he counted stripes on his shirt to calm down. "Don't think I'll ever be able to laugh right again. Hurts to smile."

Kon's TK touched Tim's knee lightly, hesitant after the Kryptonite.

"Anyway, the box won't be so bad, right? The red lamps will turn you into a real boy," Tim teased, and oh shit, there it went. He doubled over in his seat, arms clamped around his middle, giggling helplessly. His shoulders shook, and his eyes teared up.

"Tim," Bruce shouted, appearing next to him a second later.

"My—h-heh hnnnn...my fault," Tim gasped. An ugly knot formed in his stomach, the old, familiar fear that he would never be able to stop laughing once it started. The giggles sounded a little like sobs, now.

Bruce grabbed his shoulders. Panic showed in the tenseness of his mouth. "Tim..."

"Quiet place. I know."

Trying to breathe as deeply as he could, Tim pushed his thoughts aside and visualized his quiet place like he'd been taught. The therapist had suggested a field or a mountain lake, one of those places that comforted normal people. Tim had picked the place he felt the safest.

He pictured the Cave the way he had loved it before, with Bruce at the computer and Dick on the gymnastics equipment. Alfred setting out a tray of cookies and cocoa, and Barbara darting through the training course. He concentrated on it, pulling up details with as much clarity as he could.

The thump of the pommel horse as Dick threw himself around on it, rosin dust in tiny bursts as his hands slapped onto the pommels.

The flicker of light and quiet clicks as Bruce read over reports and police logs.

The smell of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, warm and soft in the cold of the cave.

Barbara a bright spot of color as she spun and dodged and flipped by mechanical opponents.

It took a while, longer than it had for months, but Tim finally settled. The knot in his stomach unraveled, and his chest relaxed until he could breathe deep. He still felt the potential laughter lying in wait, lodged somewhere around his solar plexus.

"I'm okay, Batman," he said quietly.

Batman nodded curtly. He held Tim's shoulders for another moment, then turned with a snap of his cape and went back to working on the cage.

Kon watched Tim a little nervously.

"Sorry." Tim pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. "I just thought maybe we could try that 'witty banter' thing I used to do. I pushed myself too much."

"I'm, um. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have asked you about the brainwashing," Kon said. "But maybe I should stick around. Help you practice the witty banter again, you know?"

Tim nodded, and smiled with his eyes. "Yeah. Sounds good."


End file.
